Ghosts in the Cellar
by mnemosyne23
Summary: Trapped in the ruins of an ancient shipwreck, Malcolm struggles with demons in his subconscious, while Hoshi battles the very real specter of Fear. Malcolm/Hoshi. CHAPTER 2 UPLOADED! Kind reviews welcome!
1. The Grave

**TITLE:**Ghosts in the Cellar  
_Chapter 1: The Grave_  
**AUTHOR:** Mnemosyne  


**SUMMARY:** Trapped in the ruins of an ancient shipwreck, Malcolm struggles with demons in his subconscious, while Hoshi battles the very real specter of Fear.  
**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine! If they were, we'd have had more "Malcolm Gives Hoshi Phaser Lessons" episodes. *firm nod!*  
**RATING:** R  
**SPOILERS:** Possible spoilers up to and including "The Catwalk."  
**CATEGORY:** Drama, suspense, supernatural, friendship/romance  
**CODES:** R/S, T'P, A, Tu  


  


* * *

  
"The Poyem were a highly telepathic race which lived on what is now the edge of Vulcan explored space," T'Pol addressed the staff gathered round a table in Captain Archer's Ready Room. Beside her, a digital display showed an ever shifting, 3D wire model of a ship of unusual make and origin. "I say _were_ because some two and a half centuries past, the Poyem annihilated themselves in a bloody and gruesome planetwide civil war." Her unemotional voice made it sound as though she were describing flower beds. "What little we know of Poyemkin has been gathered through extensive archaeological work conducted by the Vulcan Science Directorate over the past century. This knowledge has led me to believe that the ruined ship on the planet beneath us is of Poyem design." 

Captain Jonathan Archer steepled his fingers on the table in front of him and stared at the revolving wire model. To his right, Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed were watching the display with piqued interest and regimental discipline, respectively. On the other side of the table, Ensigns Travis Mayweather and Hoshi Sato were staring at the image of the ship with ill-hidden fascination. 

"They were flying between the stars when we were still learning how to get planes in the air," Travis said, with the breathy voice of someone who's just stepped into a cathedral and is marveling at the intricacy of its steeples. 

"Judging by the archaic design of the vessel, I believe the craft was an early scout ship for their deep space exploration program," T'Pol continued, wrists crossed behind her back. "I would estimate it to be approximately seven hundred years old." 

"Hot damn," Trip said with a whistle. "It's kinda like trippin' over a pyramid on Pluto, isn't it?" 

"The analogy is a loose one, Commander, but fitting." The Vulcan science officer leveled the captain with a steady gaze. "This is an archaeological find of great significance, Captain. The ferocity of their civil war was such that much of the Poyem civilization was destroyed, including their ships, artillery, and other technological items of import. Other than the damage it suffered in the initial crash, and weathering sustained in the centuries since, this ship is remarkably well-preserved. The minimal atmosphere of the planet does not contain enough of the necessary caustic elements to cause substantial damage to the vessel's hull plating." She paused and arched an eyebrow. "A find such as this would give the Vulcan Science Directorate… great satisfaction." 

Archer's eyes twinkled. "And if we drop it in their laps, they're going to have to think twice before badmouthing us again anytime soon." The Captain nodded his head briskly. "We'll take a team down for a look. Just a quick once over to see how structurally sound she is. T'Pol, I want you leading the away team. The Vulcan's seem to know the most about this culture - I want you recording everything you encounter down there. Take Malcolm and Hoshi with you. Malcolm, I want you to assess the safety of the ship. Should we be sending in an archaeological team, Vulcan or otherwise, I want to know they're going to be walking on solid ground. Hoshi, work with T'Pol on getting their language down pat. When we DO serve this up to the Vulcan Science Directorate, I want them eating out of our hands." He smiled at T'Pol. "No offense meant, Sub-Commander." 

"Vulcans do not offend, Captain." 

"You coulda fooled me," Trip murmured to Reed, making the Armory officer snicker. 

"That's all for now, folks. T'Pol, be careful down there. I don't want anyone springing any seven hundred year old booby traps, all right?" Archer stood, and the others stood with him. "Dismissed." 

  


* * *

  
"Why is it so cold?" Hoshi asked, shivering a little despite the modulated atmosphere of her EV suit. The interior of the Poyem ship was near pitch black, except for the harsh yellow beams of the lights attached to the away teams' helmets, and the handheld flashlights each carried. She resisted the urge to reach out and grab Lieutenant Reed's elbow for reassurance. 

"The ship's atmospheric systems have been offline for seven centuries, Ensign," T'Pol reminded calmly. 

"More than that, though," Hoshi persisted. "It's… colder than that." She knew she sounded silly, but the utter stillness and silence of the ship was … chilling. "It feels like a grave…" 

"The crew compliment of a ship this size would have been approximately fifty," T'Pol remarked as they edged their way deeper into the dark ship. "It is almost certain none of them survived the crash, and those who may have survived would have died soon after. It is a grave." 

"Sub-Commander?" Malcolm interjected, and Hoshi could tell from the tone of his voice that he was deliberately trying to steer the conversation in a new direction. She thanked him silently, and finally allowed herself to grab his elbow to prevent loosing either him or T'Pol in the dark. 

"Yes, Lieutenant." 

"I'm reading some sort of shaft approximately fifteen meters straight ahead." Hoshi let his accent warm her bones. "It appears to be a turbolift of some sort. It may afford us access to the other levels of this ship." 

"Agreed. " 

"The atmosphere also seems to be breathable, if stale. Recommend conserving the EV suits, Sub-Commander." 

Hoshi saw T'Pol nod curtly in the shaft of light emitted by Malcolm's helmet light. "Agreed also." 

Immediately, Hoshi began to unsnap her helmet. Despite all her protestations to the otherwise, their time hiding in the catwalk during the ion storm several months earlier hadn't cured her of her claustrophobia. Soon after, it had returned with a vengeance. The confined area of her EV helmet was nearly suffocating, despite the oxygen it supplied her. 

Malcolm hadn't been lying about the staleness of the air. It was the equivalent of gargling warm, salty water - unpleasant, but endurable. At least it gave her more freedom of movement. 

"Sub-Commander," she asked, trying to take her mind off the air and their eerie surroundings. "Why are the Vulcans so interested in the Poyem? There must be other dead civilizations to investigate. I'm sure there are even some living ones that warrant notice. What makes the Poyem so special?" 

"As I said aboard _Enterprise_," the science officer replied levelly, "the Poyem were highly telepathic. As a result, they developed powerful self-control mechanisms to avoid misuse of their psychic abilities." 

"You mean meditation," Malcolm supplied, still sweeping his scanner as they walked. 

"Yes. Meditation. Several documents recovered from the Poyem capital city of Pashnar indicate that the Poyem were capable of entering meditative states that could last months, even years, during which time they required neither sleep nor food nor water." 

"That's impossible," Hoshi breathed, eyes wide. She gripped Malcolm's arm tighter. "All living creatures need water to survive." 

"Be that as it may, there were records of certain Poyems maintaining their meditative state for up to two years." 

"Two years!" Hoshi exclaimed. 

"That would be correct." 

"Mind your step, Sub-Commander," Malcolm broke in. Hoshi felt him pull to a stop, and she stopped as well. "The shaft opening is directly ahead of us." 

T'Pol stopped walking, and Malcolm moved forward. Hoshi let him go unwillingly - it made her feel that much more alone on this empty, long dead ship. 

"It does appear to be some type of turbolift," Malcolm confirmed, shifting aside debris while continuing to scan. "Hoshi, can you confirm?" 

Thankful for something to do other than hover, Hoshi moved forward to stand beside him. "These symbols identify it as a Transport Tube," she translated, running her fingers over the chipped alien letters painted on the wall beside the lift. T'Pol had provided her with a copy of the Vulcan database of the Poyem language prior to the trip down. It reminded her a bit of Russian. 

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," Malcolm wheezed, shoving aside a particularly large piece of debris that resembled a turbolift door. It slid away with a CRASH!, making Hoshi jump a little, and revealing a black hole in the wall. 

The lift tube. 

"Well, this looks like fun," Malcolm observed wryly, shining his handheld light first up the shaft, then down. "Standard design, I'd say. Something like a ladder on the back wall - probably for emergencies. Provided its structurally sound, it should give us access to the other levels of the ship." 

"What do scans indicate, Lieutenant?" 

"To be honest, Sub-Commander, scans are inconclusive. Whatever this material is, it's not something the scanners are familiar with. I can't honestly tell you if it'll hold you, me, Hoshi, an elephant, or a feather." 

"Sounds promising," Hoshi muttered. 

"Determine its integrity, Lieutenant," T'Pol responded. "I will contact _Enterprise_ and inform them of our progress." 

"Yes, Sub-Commander." 

Hoshi stood back a little as Malcolm leaned into the tube. She let her eyes wander around the empty corridor. Monofilaments of dust ebbed through the beam of light emitted by her flashlight, and she wondered, not for the first time, what had become of the crew. After seven hundred years, had they disintegrated? Or were they laying about on the floor, just waiting to be tripped over in the dark? 

She shivered, and this time, it wasn't from the cold. 

"Well, it seems strong enough," Malcolm was saying, and she forced her attention back to the task at hand. The armory officer had his hand wrapped around one of the Transport Tube's ladder rungs and was giving it a few good tugs. "Still, I'd rather a more thorough analysis before we try actually stepping on them. I think if I readjust the sca-AAAAHHHH!" 

It happened so fast, for a moment, Hoshi didn't know what was going on. One moment, Malcolm's feet were firmly planted on the floor in front of the lift. The next, he was tumbling forward into the black maw of the shaft. The ladder rung he'd been testing had snapped off in his hand, leaving him dangerously off-balance. 

"Malcolm!" Hoshi yelped, and without thinking, she reached out a hand to grab hold of his arm. His momentum and weight, however, were just too much. Before she knew what was going on, she was plummeting headfirst down the shaft into a blackness darker than the one she'd left behind, with Malcolm just a split second ahead. 

She thought she heard a scream. She wasn't surprised to discover it was her own. 

  
  
_TBC…_


	2. Anxiety and Awakenings

**TITLE:**Ghosts in the Cellar  
_Chapter 2: Anxiety and Awakenings_  
**AUTHOR:** Mnemosyne  


**SUMMARY:** Trapped in the ruins of an ancient shipwreck, Malcolm struggles with demons in his subconscious, while Hoshi battles the very real specter of Fear.  
**DISCLAIMER:** Not mine! If they were, we'd have had more "Malcolm Gives Hoshi Phaser Lessons" episodes. *firm nod!*  
**RATING:** R  
**SPOILERS:** Possible spoilers up to and including "The Catwalk."  
**CATEGORY:** Drama, suspense, supernatural, friendship/romance  
**CODES:** R/S, T'P, A, Tu, P, M  


  


* * *

  
"What the hell is going on down there, Sub-Commander?" Captain Archer barked into the comm. "Did I just hear a scream?" 

"Affirmative, Captain. Ensign Sato and Lieutenant Reed appear to have fallen down a turbo shaft." 

"They WHAT!" Trip exclaimed, leaping across the bridge to stand beside the captain at the comm. "How!" 

"I am unsure." The Vulcan's normally calm voice was tinged with something that could have been worry. "I will proceed to investigate." 

"Watch yourself, T'Pol," Jonathan said firmly. "I don't want a third officer falling down the well, you understand?" 

"Aye, Captain." 

"We'll have a second away team down there with you as fast as we can." He nodded to Trip, who nodded back and bolted for the turbolift. "Just hang on." 

"Captain, may I suggest sending Doctor Phlox." 

"Why?" Archer shared a concerned look with Trip, who was half in, half out of the turbolift. He had intended on sending Ensign Cutler rather than the doctor himself. 

"The fall is quite a long one, Captain," T'Pol informed him. "Furthermore, it appears that their fall triggered something of a structural collapse. A great deal of debris from levels both above and below the one I'm on fell into the turbo shaft behind them. They are in essence sealed in at the bottom. We have no way of knowing the extent of their injuries." 

Dammit. This kept getting worse. "I'll send the Doctor with Trip and Ensign Mayweather, T'Pol." Travis looked relieved to be able to get out of his seat at the con, and leapt up to join Trip at the lift. "Keep me informed. We'll keep trying to reach their communicators. You try doing so, too." 

"Aye, Captain. T'Pol out." 

Archer heard the chime as her comm blinked out. Raising his eyes, he shared a grave look with his chief engineer. "Do whatever you have to do to get them out of there, Trip," he said solemnly. "That ship already claimed enough lives seven hundred years ago." 

"Aye, aye, Cap," Trip said soberly. Clapping Mayweather on the arm, he stepped completely into the turbolift, and was whisked away into the body of the ship. 

Archer fell heavily into his chair. It seemed silly now, the excitement he'd felt just a few hours earlier during T'Pol's briefing. Impressing the Vulcan Science Directorate was the least of his concerns now; he realized, with a heavy heart, that it should have been the least of his concerns all along. 

He stabbed at the comm a second time. "Archer to Doctor Phlox." 

"Phlox here, Captain." The Denobulan sounded particularly chipper. "What can I do for you?" 

"Meet Commander Tucker at Shuttlepod One, Doctor. We've got wounded people on planet." 

"Yes, Captain. Right away." The Doctor's amiable voice had gone from cheerful to somber in a matter of seconds. 

Archer keyed off the comm, and let his eyes drift over the bridge. Hoshi's station - painfully empty. Malcolm's tactical console - barren. 

"Find them, Trip," he said softly, before standing to cross the room and sit in Hoshi's vacant chair. He was rusty, but after a few minutes, he was using the console with a practiced hand. 

Quietly, the captain began trying to find his missing crew. 

  


* * *

  
Hoshi groaned. She wasn't sure why everything hurt so badly, nor why her mouth tasted like copper. All she understood was that something bad had happened, it had happened to her, and it was going to continue happening if she didn't try to figure out just what precisely _**IT**_ was. 

She sat up. Or rather, she tried to sit up. The most she could accomplish was a half-slouch, supported by the wall behind her. "Ow," she groaned, raising a hand to her temple and wincing. The gloves of her EV suit slipped in something wet. With a frown, she took one glove off and raised the hand back to her temple again. When she drew the hand away, something wet and sticky was on her fingers. 

Blood. 

"Great," she murmured. "Just what I needed." 

The memory of what had happened came back to her in a torrent of flashes. She had as yet to open her eyes, but when she did, she wouldn't have known the difference. It was black as midnight; blacker, because there was no moon. No stars. No light at all. 

Hoshi swallowed, and forced her hands to stop shaking as she felt around on the floor to find her flashlight. After a minute of frantic searching, she struggled to calm her breathing as her fingers closed around the familiar shape of her flashlight. 

With trembling fingers, she turned it on. 

"Oh God…" she breathed, eyes widening. "Malcolm!" 

The armory officer was collapsed on the floor not two feet away from her. His eyes were closed, and a gash over his eyebrow had washed one whole side of his face in blood. 

Hoshi scrambled towards him, ignoring her own aches and pains. "Malcolm…!" she squeaked, her fear at being alone outdistancing her fear of more injury. "Malcolm, please be all right. Please wake up!" 

He appeared to have struck his head on a jagged piece of metal that had fallen out of the turboshaft with them. Hoshi laid her hand on the unbloodied side of his face, and was horrified to feel how clammy he was. With trembling fingers, she checked his pulse. It was still there, but thready. 

"Malcolm, wake up," she begged quietly, wrapping her fingers around the shoulder of his EV suit as though it were a life rope. She knew she should be trying to help him, but she couldn't think; couldn't concentrate. Her mind seemed to be filled with static, making it impossible to form a cohesive thought, like how to make a tourniquet. Her eyes darted about, searching for movement in the constricting darkness that surrounded them. It was like being trapped in a box - an ever shrinking box. 

She was suffocating. 

"Oh…Oh God…" she whispered, and squeezed her eyes shut. Gripping Malcolm's EV suit with all her worth, she slowly leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "Please don't die… I can't be alone here…" She hated how pitiful she sounded. "Please, Malcolm… Don't leave me alone…." 

There was no answer from the unconscious man beneath her. She focused on listening to his weak heartbeat, and ignored the searing sensation of a hundred prying eyes watching them with creepy curiosity. 

  


* * *

  
The first thing that struck Malcolm upon opening his eyes was how blue everything was. 

He had expected it to be pitch black here, just as the rest of the ship had been dark as night. Instead, the corridor seemed to be bathed in a pleasant, robin's egg blue light. It tinged his skin pinkish-purple, and made his uniform look navy blue. 

Wait a moment… Uniform? What had happened to his EV suit? And where was Hoshi? 

"Hoshi?" he called out, pushing himself into a sitting position. He winced, and lay back down again. The world was spinning all of a sudden; he must have taken a good blow to the head to leave him this disoriented. A quick inventory of the rest of his body told him that his left ankle was sprained, possibly broken, and he certainly had some broken ribs down his right side. 

"I hope Hoshi's all right," he said quietly, opening his eyes again. Thankfully, the spinning had stopped. He chose not to risk starting it up again, however, and remained stretched out on the floor, trying to decide what to do next. T'Pol would probably be trying to reach them, so the best plan would be to find Hoshi and then wait for rescue. 

But where was Hoshi to be found? 

"You should not be here." 

Malcolm sat bolt upright, and swallowed down the nausea the movement caused. "Who are you?" he demanded sharply. 

A very skinny man with wide, pale blue eyes - wide like tea saucers - was crouched against the opposite wall, a few feet further down the corridor. His limbs were long and gangly, even bent up as they were. He would be very tall when he stood. His skin looked powder blue, which meant it was probably ivory white. His thin hair, too, was white, turned blue by the ambient light that surrounded them. It hung down his back, reaching almost to the tailbone. The man's skin clung to his bones as though it had been vacuum-sealed; Malcolm could make out every detail of femurs, tibias, knuckles, shoulders… Only the man's clothing - a thin white tunic that appeared to reach to his knees - provided any loose cover. His skull stood out in harsh relief, with painfully sharp cheekbones and a razor-tight jaw line. His enormous eyes were sunken back into deep sockets, and blinked only occasionally, like an afterthought. 

"Who are you?" Malcolm asked again, more cautiously this time. He didn't like the look in this… alien's eyes. 

"Who are you?" the alien asked back. 

"I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, of the starship _Enterprise_," Malcolm answered. "Now who are you?" 

"I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, of the starship _Enterprise_," the albino alien parroted. "Now who are you?" 

Malcolm glared at the creature. "Stop that!" he snapped. "Tell me your name!" 

"Stop that! Tell me your name!" 

"I said stop it!" 

"I said stop it!" 

"Right now, do you hear me?" 

"Right now, do you hear me?" 

"That's enough!" 

"Fai'shal." 

Malcolm blinked. "Fai… What?" 

The alien tilted his head to the side. It made him resemble a heron, Malcolm thought. "My name is Fai'shal," the alien said. His voice was high pitched and a little squeaky, as if he hadn't used it in some time. 

"Where did you come from?" Malcolm asked. 

"From here," Fai'shal replied airily. Too airily, it seemed. 

"This ship… it's been dead for centuries," Malcolm said. "You could not have come from here. Are you a native of this planet?" He did not recall anyone informing him of any sentient lifeforms on this planet. 

Fai'shal shook his head. "I am from here," he said again, and as if to hammer home his point, he wrapped his bony knuckles three times - One! Two! Three! - on the floor of the corridor. 

Malcolm furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. What are you?" 

"I am Fai'shal of the Poyem." 

Malcolm's eyes widened. "Come again?" 

"Fai'shal of the Poyem." 

"But…how?" 

"Seven cycles of an age I have been here," Fai'shal continued, his wide blue eyes unblinking as he stared at Malcolm. "Seven cycles of an age, alone and waiting." 

Malcolm shook his head slowly. "I… I'm afraid I don't understand." 

Fai'shal laughed then, making Malcolm jump. "Understand!" the alien whooped, as if he couldn't believe the silliness of such a thought. "It is not to understand! It just is!" 

"What?" Malcolm asked, recovering his wits. "What just is? What are you talking about?" 

Fai'shal grinned at him, revealing uneven teeth that ended in sharp-looking points. "Silly alien creature," Fai'shal admonished with a clucking tongue. "Silly thing won't accept its fate." 

"What fate?" Malcolm was beginning to get angry now. He was a man who appreciated straight answers. 

"To join me here!" 

"What?" 

"Don't you see?" Fai'shal laughed again. "I'm dead! Long have I been dead today, since yesterday, and long will I be dead tomorrow!" 

Malcolm swallowed. "I don't -" 

The alien cut him off. "You'll get used to it soon. After a while, it feels like breathing." 

"Get used…to what?" 

"To being dead, of course." 

Malcolm's eyes bugged out of his head. "What!" 

Fai'shal gave him another grin of razor-sharp teeth. "Being dead. You're dead, you see. We're all dead here - just you, and me." He laughed. "That was a rhyme! You'll learn to love rhyme, you will. A rhyme, a rhyme, it passes the time!" He laughed again, and it echoed up and down the corridor like water rolling through a pipe. 

Malcolm stared in horror at the alien singing to himself five feet away. He had come across many alien species since joining Starfleet, and he'd learned to accept personality quirks as they came. 

But "barking mad loony" seemed to be universal. And he was stranded on an alien ship with a dead one. 

  
  
_TBC…_


End file.
